


Becoming Commander

by UnrealRomance



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Doesn't start out as Commander Shepard or in the military at all, F/M, Minors DNI, Minors do not interact, Modern Girl in Mass Effect, Rewrite, Slow Burn, So long as it's actually critique and not personal opinion, basically rags to riches in a way?, open to critique, that seems to be my specialty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:34:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 20,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22511821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnrealRomance/pseuds/UnrealRomance
Summary: Malicia doesn't know what the hell is going on, but she figures if she's either dead or somehow been dropped through a weird wormhole into the mass effect universe-- either way, she's gonna need a job.A mass effect Modern Girl story that starts with the protagonist as a nobody refugee of sorts who has no idea what's going on. Watch as she very slowly takes over the universe! Just kidding. Maybe.
Relationships: Shepard is the modern girl, Thane Krios/Female Shepard, Thane Krios/Modern Girl, Thane Krios/Original Female Character(s), They're all the same person, Yes - Relationship
Comments: 108
Kudos: 177





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Any of you who may remember this story are in for a treat! I kept all the basic elements from before but I've improved the outline by leaps and bounds, I promise.

There was pain, more than anything.

Pain and jumbled images of dead bodies all around me as I tried to shove myself into a sitting position.

My body very clearly said 'fuck sitting up' and dropped me back down with a pained gasp when I felt something in my chest yank the wrong direction.

I dunno what the right direction is, but I don't wanna do that again. Hell no.

There's black eating at the edges of my vision, but I can't figure out where the pain or threat of unconsciousness is coming from. Did I fall down the stairs in my apartment complex? No. I'm in the dirt.

Dirt stained red with blood from dead bodies.

My vision is wibbly-wobbly and time seems to expand and contract in a really funky way that I think exists only in my brain- and then I see a pair of eyes. On one of the bodies. Open and unseeing. Completely black.

Below another pair of eyes.

It's then that I notice the body looks an awful lot like a Batarian, from Mass Effect. Not precisely, though.

For one thing, their bony ridges have actual bone-like protuberances. For another, no ears or aural canals. Nostrils still there and there's still too many of them to be human. Four eyes but the second set is much smaller, sitting on top of the bigger ones. A bit wider in their spacing.

The body is bulkier than a human's I think. Fingers have armor on them, but the hand I can see stretched out across the ground in front of…him? I'm gonna go with 'him'. The hand has bony spines sticking out of holes in the gauntlets. Like Wolverine claws but sprouting from the knuckles instead of in-between them.

' _Weird.'_

"Sir! Sir, one's moving!" A voice calls out and I can feel the impact of running footsteps. The echo of the sounds all crash together and I turn my head in the man's direction. "She's alive!"

He jostles me roughly as he checks my pulse and I make a small noise of pain. He apologizes as he pops a small injector out of a pouch on his hip and seems to jab it directly into his wrist.

A blue glow overtakes his arm, too blurry to see the shape. An omni-tool?

He takes the injector and touches it to my neck.

I feel the injection as a rush of cold, more like a burst of air than a needle, thank god. I hate needles.

Just before the medication takes me away, I can see who he was yelling to.

A man in fine armor, with a familiar face. Someone I'd know even if he hadn't spoken, even if my vision _is_ getting darker.

"Hold on, kid."

* * *

It took me a couple hours to come to terms with the fact that this was reality. Or at least, that I might be in some kind of simulation in heaven. I mean, what if that's how heaven works? What if I got dropped here to enjoy Mass Effect and they didn't wipe my memories because if they did…I wouldn't appreciate it as much?

Yeah, I dunno. I'm pretty sure the medication is keeping me too incoherent to think about anything in-depth.

I can remember having conversations with Chakwas and Anderson both, laughing and crying in turns as I get used to the oddness of my body being filled with broken parts that are healing a lot faster than I'm used to.

I mean, I've only had broken toes before and that was usually by kicking a table by accident- but they didn't heal this fast. So fast I could _feel_ the bones itching and knitting back together.

"I know it's unnerving when you haven't experienced it before, but you'll get used to it soon enough." Chakwas comforts me as I whine about the weirdness going on in my organs and bones. "How odd that you should lose all personal memories but retain everything about humanity and aliens and even mass relays…" She hums. "Your brain is either highly ordered or…"

"Completely fucked up?" I grin halfheartedly. "Yeah, I think it's the latter."

"This seems less an injury-induced Amnesia and more Trauma-induced. I will recommend that you see a therapist when you have the time," she says.

"What do I even say?" I ask. "I don't remember anything because it's too terrible to remember, let's dig in there! I mean. I would, probably. But I don't think any good would come from it."

"Oh?" She asks while walking around me, scanning my body sitting up in bed. "Why not?"

"Well. Basically I can't get back whatever life I had. Everyone is dead. I can't really remember or feel bad about their deaths right now, which allows me to live and go on. If I did remember, what if I became suicidal? What if I got so depressed and apathetic I didn't get out of bed for the rest of my life?"

Chakwas hums and looks down at her readings. "Only you can decide what's best for you. If you think leaving the past in the past is what you need to do for now, I won't argue. But at least see someone to be sure nothing is going wrong neurologically. If I'm wrong and this _was_ caused by injury, we don't want to be surprised by a sudden aneurysm."

"You got it, doc."

"Knock knock," Anderson says as he comes in the very cool sci-fi sliding door. "I have the paperwork. I think your ID picture turned out nicely."

He hands me a digital chip- that is meant to be put into my new omni-tool.

I hold it and stare kind of uselessly at both before he realizes he needs to show me how.

Once it's all loaded into the interface, though, I can open up the file myself. Omni-tools are thankfully very intuitive.

My ID picture had to be taken in order to register me as a citizen, because I have no papers. Anderson assumed my parents hadn't ever bothered because I was on a planet that was mostly for farming and they assumed I wouldn't need it unless or until I had to leave.

Apparently that's a thing.

But I had to wait a few days after I was recovered, because I looked like death warmed over.

This ID picture still looks like I took it while ill, but thankfully not as badly as I could've looked.

Dark circles around my eyes, a slight sallow cast to my skin. That's basically how I always am, though.

My hair is pure black here, whereas before it was kind of an ash-brown-blonde color…so I wonder if maybe I'm in someone else's dead body? Which is weird and gross…

But then I realize my roots are kinda showing a little brown. So this is me, and my body, with dyed hair?

…alternate universe?

It's the only explanation I can come up with. That the infinite universes include me in Mass Effect with dyed black hair.

Jesus, is there another me with strawberry blonde and purple hair? A me with green hair? How big are the changes to each universe?

Oh god, my head is spinning.

"Malicia?" Doctor Chakwas walks over and grasps my shoulder. "Are you alright, my dear?"

"Ugh…everything is too much," I respond.

"Here, let me help you get everything set up on your omni-tool," Anderson says. "With a person helping you out, it won't seem like such a huge thing, right? I promise, we'll get everything figured out, at your own pace. When we reach the citadel, we'll figure out what to do with your living arrangements then. I won't leave you alone."

He squeezes my other shoulder.

And I almost start crying because this is honestly more support than I've ever had in my life.


	2. Chapter 2

The registration took care of my citizenship in Council space- but the Alliance wanted me to register for their citizenship too.

I didn't really see the point. Council space laws are different from Alliance laws and once I looked them up, it seemed like they were on the whole, a lot better.

Sure, every system has its problems and Council space is biased against humans and other species besides the Asari, Salarians and Turians…but their laws were more lax in areas that I felt they should be much looser and the Alliance's version of those laws were much more uptight and rigid.

So they're the best of a terrible choice between two flawed options.

The Alliance, as we'd seen in the games, is just as flawed as the Council. If I'm gonna be a citizen of anything, I'll just pick one and stick with it. And seeing as the Council is one I _have_ to have to work here, it's the only one I really need.

Anderson respected that choice, but still told me he thought it was a bad idea not to have a dual citizenship as a human in Council space. Considering that the Alliance could represent me in cases where my rights as a Citizen of Council space were being violated.

But to be honest, I didn't think it'd help to even get them involved. The Council species here might even dig their heels in deeper just to spite me for getting the alliance involved.

Like a bully on the playground getting worse and worse after you tell your teachers on them. They might not be allowed to publicly bully you anymore and might get punished every time they do, but it won't discourage them.

So now I'm just a Council Space citizen living on the Citadel. In an apartment.

More specifically, Anderson's apartment.

Apparently when he talked about he and that lady from the biotic school buying it together, he meant a LOOONG time ago.

Kahlee, that's her name. She and him decided to invest in a vacation/retirement home for when they finally decided to leave the service and settle down.

Anderson says they're not going to use it for a few years yet, so my using it while I have nowhere else to go isn't an imposition.

…I still don't like it. Living here, lying to him about who I am and where I'm from, taking advantage of his hospitality- even if I have no other choice…

I know what it's like to be taken advantage of and used.

So even if I need it, it's like a punch to the gut to be an inconvenience to _anyone_.

Which is why I left the apartment today, even though I'm exhausted and my joints ache. Because even if by some miracle, I end up fully recovered and able to go out and work…there might not be any jobs. And I need to figure out one way or another if I'd have to apply for benefits as early as possible.

I doubt this world is any better at caring for the disabled and unemployed than mine was. Considering the status of a lot of species here.

Didn't find any jobs today, though. And I went through all the places I'd be even remotely qualified for. Which is to say: manual, unskilled labor of all kinds.

"Welcome to T'rato's galleria," an Asari says as I absent-mindedly walk through their shop. "Do you require any help today?"

I glance over at them and notice that their light turquoise skin is accented by seafoam markings along their crest…and also that they have dark blue tattoos along their jawline that mark them as an Asari with no Gender.

Yeah, that was a surprise. Turns out Asari have one _sex_ or rather- one _dominant sex_ with very few variations- but a _lot_ of genders.

Basically Asari are female and intersex- sort of? Intersex is the only way it'll translate. But really it's just different kinds of female sexes by human standards. By Asari standards, they don't really denote Sex that way so it's…kinda moot.

…I've been doing a _lot_ of research while laid up in bed…

"I just got on the Citadel," I say. Turning to them. "My colony was attacked and I was left with…kinda nothing? Do you have casual clothes here?"

Anderson gave me some money to get clothes, food and other essentials. I'm pretty determined to just think of it as a line of credit. I'll earn it back and repay him. Somehow.

"Of course! But…are you certain you want _this_ store?" they ask.

"It's the only store on the Citadel I could find a catalogue for with clothes that aren't too gendered in either direction," I say.

Their black sclera'd, purple-iris'd eyes light up. "Oh, wonderful! I haven't met many Humans." No eyelashes…instead their eyes have little cartilaginous ridges around them. Not super noticeable. Made moreso with a type of Asari eyeliner in a deeper turquoise than her skin.

"I'd guess they just kinda trade off with masc or femme clothes most of the time. I just prefer to either be both or neither," I reply with a small curl to my mouth. "There's probably a lot more of us on human colonies."

"Well, let's take a look through the selections! Oh, but tell me what is your style, exactly?" they ask with a giddy grin. Slightly thin, blue-painted lips stretching apart to showcase bright white teeth. They have more canines than we do, but only by like, two or three on the top…

"Goth. Dark colors. Punk, splashes of bright color. Maybe even a little bit emo- where things are a little ripped up. Like, artfully frayed or something." I describe.

They clap their hands and grin wider. "Oh I know what you're talking about. It's just like the _Morose_ Style that the Asari have!" I think my translator struggled with that one, it sounded kinda tinny when it came out.

Sometimes the translators have a hard time spitting out the right terms in time so they have to stress their processors to check and double-check all their databases when something's particularly…difficult.

Asari language is very art-y? So I'm guessing the true translation would be different. I need to switch modes sometime soon, come to think of it. It might be confusing but it also might illuminate a few things…

"Sounds good," I reply. Admiring the angular curves of their face and their very sharp cheekbones.

I'll bet their father was Turian. Asari tend to take on certain traits depending on who their father was. Not super obvious or anything. A pronounced set of eyebrow ridges for Batarian fathers maybe. Cheekbones for Turians. More of a pronounced nasal ridge for Humans-

Said nasal ridge on their face, scrunches up. "Hmm…we may not have anything in stock for the more hardcore styles but I think we can find something to emphasize your body in all the right ways!" They end with a very enthusiastic customer-service voice.

But I can tell from the way their crest twitches that they're really as excited as they seem. So far as I've been able to research, they can't really control that response. It's like blushing in humans.

"Excuse me," an accented voice speaks from behind me.

The Asari salesperson turns to address them and smiles a bit more tightly. "Ah…how can I help you?"

I glance back and see a Quarian.

"I need fabric patches," she says. "I can pay."

For Quarians, gender presentation is all in the suits. The elaborate-ness of them, the colors they use, the accessories on them.

Purple and gold, like on Tali's suit in the series are both colors associated with femininity in Quarian culture. Red and black are masculine. But it's not the colors themselves, it's their combinations.

You could feasibly have a red and purple suit and a small third color accent here and there and still be considered either masculine or feminine depending on which color the accents are.

Also if you wear only one color but certain accessories.

Basically there's also lots of Quarian genders. And sexes. Basically everyone in the damn galaxy acknowledges more than two sexes besides us and Batarians.

They're there, they're just not acknowledged.

"Oh I'll get those for you straight away!" the Asari seems relieved.

The Quarian relaxes as the Asari hurries off and then stiffens again when she notices me looking.

"Hello," I greet and smile. "I apologize if I seem nosy, humans tend to look at people who are speaking whether or not they're speaking to them, and wait for conversations to be over before approaching people."

That seems to put her a bit more at ease. "Oh. Quarians usually turn away."

Yeah that was one of the notes in the research I'd read- though I'd like to take most of it with a grain of salt as I wasn't able to find many Quarian-made resources. It's a politeness thing where you at least pretend you're not listening to the conversation.

Some humans do it too, but more often than not, we tend to default to paying attention.

"Is your suit in any immediate danger?" I ask.

Her three-fingered hand flutters up to land on her chest. Or well, two fingers and a thumb. Same difference, right?

"Oh…no. It is for someone else. I had to seal their suit with Omni-gel until we could patch it and we are…well, we are running out," she says.

I blink. "Don't you get some kind of…I dunno, relief from the Council? You might not be on the Council but you're Council citizens, aren't you?"

She seems distinctly uncomfortable then. "No…not precisely. We have no place of residence and so we are technically visitors or…"

Vagrants.

That's right. That one Quarian in the second game who was being charged with Vagrancy before you could hit the option to defend her.

That's complete _Bullshit_.

"I have them here," the Asari returns.

"Hey, before that, what are both of your names?" I ask. "Humans usually consider it rude not to do introductions when talking to people and I completely forgot, my apologies."

Using cultural divides to bridge gaps should be useful here. Both their species cultures and sub-cultures put emphasis on politeness, friendship and community.

The Quarian shifts on her feet, as if surprised. "Oh… I am Zummi'Gudda nar Meraka."

"And I am Tevli T'rato," the Asari says.

"Malicia Shepard," I reply. "Tevli, how much would it cost to buy a whole bolt of cloth here?"

They hum, "well, I suppose it would depend on what kind you need."

"Zummi, what kind of cloth do you use to patch your suits?" I ask.

She shifts again, glancing between us. "I…it's more of a two-layer system of durable leather and _silk_ ," spits the translator.

I'm guessing it's a cloth that's _like_ silk but not exactly.

"How much for one length of durable leather and one of silk, then?" I ask Tevli.

"About as much as five outfits here would cost you," they reply. "If we're talking a whole bolt."

The most neutral color in Quarian culture is silver.

"Get me a bolt of leather and silver…whatever she just said that translated to 'silk' for me," I say. "And also if you could find me a good handful of shirts, pants and shoes that I could buy for myself I'd be very grateful."

I'd be using half my budget to buy the two bolts but if the damn government doesn't take care of its people, then the people _should_.

"Right away!" they chime and walk away.

I turn to Zummi'Gudda, "sorry for calling you so familiarly, it's a human habit to pick the first part of someones' name and call them that for convenience. I forget so easily."

"It is no trouble," she doesn't seem to know what's going on or what to think of this whole situation.

I'd imagine people had bought things she couldn't in front of her before to flaunt their privilege over her. I mean, I've heard of weirder stuff back on Earth in my own universe. Bigotry and Classism will always do their dance and you can learn the steps pretty quickly and easily no matter where they're applied and to whom.

Bigotry and Classism don't require a whole lot of critical thought, after all. They, in fact, require the exact opposite.

Unlearning them from the inside, now _that_ takes a crap ton of critical thought.

"Here we are," Tevli comes back with two bolts under one arm and a small basket filled with clothes in their other hand. They set down the basket on a nearby table and hand me the bolts.

"Alright here," I turn and hand them to Zummi'Gudda.

She takes them, but it's with a startled movement. "I-…"

"On Earth, a couple hundred years ago, there were these rebellious movements," I say. "They picketed and they protested and they sabotaged and rioted. But a lot of them also supplied food, medicine and clothing- whatever essentials were necessary, to the citizens of the country or state that weren't being tended to by the government. I don't know if those movements still exist in any form but I do know I want to be the kind of neighbor a person can borrow some sugar from every now and then."

Zummi'Gudda blinks her bioluminescent eyes at me from under her foggy, dark visor. "… _sugar_?" Her translater spits in a confused tone.

"It's a community thing," I say. "Where you can give people things they need and expect nothing in return because you had the means to give it and if the government isn't doing anything to help, you have an obligation to do so. And sugar is a food-sweetener that humans use in recipes."

I'm kind of smashing two things together here, but it gets the general idea across and makes it seem casual so she doesn't need to feel weird about it.

"I can't…pay for this," Zummi'Gudda says. In a very rough voice.

"I'm paying for it, and like I said, no payback. It may just be that I'm from a farm colony, but this just seems normal to me, is it not?" I ask. Blinking innocently.

People with a lot of pride or who think you're looking down on them might refuse out of hand. But somebody being faced with someone who's just naturally generous and has the means to be so- well, usually you put up a fuss before accepting, but in the end, you accept.

Especially if you're poor. I should know.

A people like the Quarians who have to save every bit of tech they can get their hands on don't just stumble into generous people often, I'd have to assume. But when it happens, will you really say no just because you're not used to it?

"Th…thank you," she says. Softly but still very confused.

"No problem, I need to pay for these clothes too, right? I assume you got my size from a scan or something so I can just take 'em home?" I address Tevli.

They nod. "If you'd like to come back in later and have them specially tailored, we offer tailoring services for all customers as long as the clothing was purchased here."

"Great, here," I pay for my clothes and the bolts, pick up the basket and walk out of the store.

All while Zummi'Gudda was still inspecting the bolts and running the ends through her suited fingertips.

Well, I didn't find a job, but hopefully having some clothes will help make a good first impression on whoever I see tomorrow when I go job-hunting again.

God, I'm so tired.


	3. Chapter 3

"I see you got the clothes," Anderson says approvingly as I let him into the apartment. "A punk, are you?"

"I'm a lot of things," I reply. "What are you doing back so soon? I thought your mission was for a month?"

"Supposed to be," he sighs as he walks in to collapse on the sofa. "Ended up discovering an embezzling scheme on my own ship with rations- we were called to investigate nothing so they could deliver the goods."

"Didn't they think that'd be obvious, when you got there and there was nothing going on? And a bunch of your rations were missing?" I ask.

He hums. "There were plenty of murders on that colony to keep us busy investigating for a few days to make sure it wasn't anything big, just isolated incidents. And that's all they needed. And as to the rations…"

I sit next to him with a person-length between us.

Knowing and not knowing someone at the same time is…weird.

"Well, there wasn't actually that much. Just a crate," he says. "But I dug into the logs for other Alliance ships around? Apparently this kind of thing happens often."

I frown. "That sounds like a network."

"I thought so, too." He gestures with his hand in a helpless way. "Wasn't enough evidence to get command to look at it."

"Can't you just do it?" I ask. "I mean, it was technically your mission for another two weeks at _least_ …"

He grins a little, in an understated fashion as he looks at me. "True. But since I already reported it in, thinking they'd take up the investigation for me, I've been relieved of that particular mission already."

"Ah well, there was your mistake," I tease. "Don't you know you don't call mom till you know you absolutely can't handle it yourself?"

Chuckling, he gets up and heads for the kitchen. "True, true. I just thought, after so much time in the Alliance- that I knew what they took seriously."

"If the credit loss is small and negligible, I don't think they'd want to expend more resources to solve that small a problem," I say. "Then again, in the long run they'll be costing themselves a LOT more money by _not_ handling it so the least they could do is…send an agent."

"An agent," he says.

Walking back into the living area with a bottle of beer in his hand.

I haven't touched any of the alcohols in here. I dunno what this universe's alcohol is even _like_.

"Someone they can contract out, presumably," I say. "A mercenary they've worked with in the past who does good work or someone honorably discharged who's open to doing jobs every now an then. Someone affiliated with them but also NOT affiliated with them. The cost of hiring and supplying such a person would be a lot all at once- but when you weigh it against what you _could_ lose in the future, it's paltry."

Anderson sits back down, still staring at me. He was nodding the whole time I was talking but now he just looks kind of focused.

"Somethin' wrong?" I ask.

"You ever think about joining up?" he asks. "I know you're not a fighter exactly, but that can be taught. And there's other positions. Desk jobs, that you might be just perfect for."

"Oh. Oh no, god no," I laugh and put a hand up. Waving a bit like I'm warding off the very idea. "Soldier-life is not for me. And beyond that, I don't agree with all the decisions that armies make. If I stand up for my beliefs just _once_ because they're _wrong_ , I'm labeled an AWOL fugitive and I'm just…not into that…though…now that you mention it…"

I think about my options and the fact that government jobs are often more stable…

"You think I could ever join C-Sec?" I ask.

"C-sec?" Anderson asks. "That's about the same as the service. Though I suppose without all the moving around and with only the occasional shootings…well. If this were a few years ago, I'd say absolutely not. But in the past two or three, new initiatives have started up to get other species into C-Sec to try and equalize everything. It was of course intended for species who've been around a bit longer than us. But since they accept Salarians into their coroner offices and science labs and have Volus running the numbers…well, we were able to get our foot in the door."

"So it's possible?" I ask.

He hums, "we've already tried putting several military cadets through their training program and none made it through. All rejected in their first round of testing and rather than go through the training again, most of them quit. Some stayed and got rejected again, and then again. Seems Humans either can't keep up with Turian training-"

"Or someone is purposefully failing them," I say with a little bit of a growl in my chest. It's not really a sound, it's more a feeling.

"So if you wanted to take a shot, nobody could stop you," he says. "But they also don't have to pass you. And every run through that course puts a mark on your record. Meaning the more you fail, the more likely you'll fail again."

"Then I guess I'll have to pass," I say. "It'll be hard, but…there's ways to get around this shit. You know them, right?"

"What, strong-arming people into following the letter of the law?" he says. "Sure. People on Earth have been using those tactics to get people to shut up and pay attention for a good long while. Doesn't always work. Especially when you're on the bottom. And humans _are_ on the bottom in Citadel space, make no mistake about that. We're slightly more respected than Vorcha, but that's not saying much."

"I don't like how everyone's down on the Vorcha just because they don't live long and they aren't predisposed toward genius intellect," I say while wrinkling my nose. "They fight because it's how they survive and they can't control how fast their metabolism kills them from old age…"

"I think you would make a damn. fine. officer," he says. "But besides the whole 'on the bottom' part, there's also the fact that we have no representation on the Council. Almost no one does. If we wanted to force C-Sec to play fair, we'd have to go through…well. A Turian."

"Sparatus," I say. "And he doesn't like helping humans even when they're in the right, I'd guess."

' _Ah yes, "Reapers"',_ comes to mind.

"Doing your research on the council, eh?" he asks. "What do you know about Tevos?"

"Not a whole lot," I reply. "She's traditional but bendy enough that most people just shrug their shoulders and take their chances. The Council needs progressives on it, not traditionalists of any kind. Sparatus, Tevos and Valern are all rigid in their own ways. In order to do diplomacy, you have to be flexible."

"I suppose they're all worried that if they're too progressive, they'll stop looking out for their own species and focus on everyone else," he says.

"If you're progressive at _all_ , you don't have to go looking beyond your borders to find the most vulnerable people in your own culture or species. The Ardat-Yakshi- do you know about them?" I shift on the couch to face him more directly. "How about Turian and Salarian Biotics?"

He makes a noise to indicate he's listening and takes a swig of his beer.

I think the brand says something like 'BuddyPal' but I can only make out like half of the label so it's probably badly translated Turian, Asari or Salarian.

I can't tell the letters of the different species' many languages apart just yet.

"The Ardat-Yakshi are basically mentally and physically disabled people but instead of some kind of program to help them integrate into society, they put them away in a reclusive location and keep them prisoner…or just outright kill them." In this world, that information is actually readily available…and I found it just to be absolutely certain that it was still true.

It's not talked about much, but the information is there for you to find if you go digging.

"And Turian biotics are kind of ostracized in Turian society. Seen as too dangerous and uncontrollable to really be part of a military and since Military is their whole thing…" I trail off meaningfully. "And Salarian biotics are so rare, they're instantly shuffled off to the STG and other intelligence divisions. We hear barely anything about _them_ so who knows in what conditions they're being trained and maintained in?"

"So in your opinion, progressives look to their own first specifically because they're progressives," he says. "And anyone who calls themself a progressive and goes looking for others outside their species to support…?"

"They either think there aren't any problems in their own species or they lump themselves and all of them together, thinking of them all as inherently bad because whatever structures in place keep them on top are corrupt. It's like seeing a mercenary murder someone and deciding that because the structures in place keep you from killing them on the spot without provocation in order to stop them must mean that all of your species are bad and evil." I explain.

"Like when people talk about how terrible humanity is because of what we did to Earth and how hard it was to fix it even a little, even though it was the richest and most influential on the planet that were to blame," he muses. "So that's what you're driving at. Yes, I see now."

"How do I sign up for C-Sec courses?" I ask.

He drums his fingers on the couch's armrest and then turns to face me. "Give me a few days and I'll pull some strings. It's difficult to get even Military cadets into that program. You've never seen combat. If you'd prefer a desk job, that'd be easier."

"I want to be…" I struggle with words. "I don't _want_ to have to shoot anyone. But behind a desk, I might not be of any use at all to anyone. I don't have to be involved in combat but there's interrogators and other kinds of people who aren't usually in the direct line of fire, right?"

He nods, "a generalized focus into investigative sciences and only the basic combat training should be possible. But you're going to have to figure out which branch and position you're going into by the time the first test rolls around. The test is tailored to each one, after all."

"Hopefully I'll have learned enough to figure out what I want by then," I reply.

If I don't…at least I'll have some weapons training and a better understanding of the laws around here by then.

Can't subvert anything if you don't know how it works.


	4. Chapter 4

The Darkstar Lounge is a decadent, but also slightly seedy place.

Like, imagine a really rich couple is throwing a soiree that includes an orgy but is also the most mannerly and orderly orgy you've ever seen. And now imagine the bar off to the side of the main room.

That's the Darkstar Lounge. It's classy but it has dark themes and neon lights in places that don't really light up much more than you need to avoid tripping over everyone.

I came mostly because it's the only bar on the Citadel I'm really familiar with.

If I was on Illium, I'd head straight to Aethyta's bar if I wanted a drink. Familiarity's been like a drug to me ever since I got here.

As it is, I'm here now because I need something and I'm not sure how to make it and I don't wanna accidentally poison myself.

"Hello!" I greet the bartender. "I heard this bar has protein shakes and smoothies that come with boosters?"

For Turians, gender and sex are mostly the same thing except in rare cases because…well, they don't really have gender roles. People are what they are and mostly nobody worries about it. Pronouns are nearly the same because they only denote a difference in the individuals being mentioned for the sake of understanding. Not to put people in a box.

I wish I'd been born Turian.

Then my 'unladylike' tendencies wouldn't have been weird or threatened anyone's masculinity or religion. My being me would've just been…accepted.

The Asari don't appeal to me in the same way because even with all their genders, there's still certain traits assigned to each one. Quarians too, have clearly defined gender roles even if they also have people who fit in multiple or no categories.

But Turians? Turians focus more on your roles in the military. _That_ would be their version of Gender, if we were to make a comparison.

I can tell this bartender goes by 'he' pronouns because he isn't obviously presenting as feminine in any way that Turians do to let other species know they should be called by 'she' pronouns. They don't always signal, but the vast majority do, because the Asari take it so seriously.

No Turian really gets offended if you call them by another set of pronouns though. They're basically all Agender with barely an idea of what it even is.

He looks up at me, mandibles tight to his face. It's not a happy look, but it's also not a snarl or anything. He's probably tired from working a full shift of supplying drunk people with more alcohol.

"You can get that from any place on the Citadel," he says.

I actually love that Turians and Salarians don't go in for that 'customer service smile' bullshit. Their societies run on military discipline and science respectively. There's no real room in their cultures for treating service-people like they're dirt.

"Yeah but I like the ambiance here better," I reply. "Cool lights in the darkness, nice temperature, handsome bartenders…" I grin at the end a little but try not to be too forceful about it. Turians are more…open about sexuality- that doesn't mean you can't fumble into sexual harassment if you're not careful.

Every culture has a different idea of what that is- it usually all comes down to reading their body language and reacting appropriately- and I've been doing a _lot_ of studying into Turian, Salarian and Asari body language lately.

His mandibles flutter very close to his face. It's a twitch, barely. "What flavor?" he sounds so defeated and tired, it's honestly making me wish I could go to another bar and give him a break.

"Anything that isn't grassy or citrus fruit," I say. "Cherry, Strawberry, Grape…whatever Asari flavors are comparable and fruity but not sour or astringent."

He bobs his head, "we've got a few human flavors…Asari tend to like them." Pulling a couple of vials out of their places under the bar, he sets them on the bar itself. "We got Asari fruit flavors over here, and human flavors over here of all kinds. Including chocolate and vanilla. I've been told they're subtle and smooth."

"What about the Asari flavors?" I ask. "Do they seem to correspond to any other ones?"

He shrugs, "you'd have to ask an Asari. I can't really drink any of it."

"I assumed that since you're the Bartender, you'd know," I say apologetically. "Back where I'm from, people working places had to know the whole menu and have a ready-to-go description and opinion on every item even if they'd never had it before. Usually telling customers what other customers have said."

His mandibles flutter out a little farther and tick down before returning to their resting position. "That sounds…like a lot of work for a job like this."

I nod and explain, "most people on Earth and other colonies who are human, well…we do a lot of work above and beyond for our employers. Capitalism damaged our culture to the point that it became like the Batarian caste system at one point, but…even if we've fixed a lot of it, it's still part of us."

And that's all true. I looked up Earth history and apparently just before space travel became a serious thing- capitalism was in its late stages and everything was going to hell. Not like in my universe. _Much worse_.

The rich had what amounted to indentured slaves and servants- though without any paperwork to make it all illegal. They just had such a stranglehold on everything, it made it difficult or impossible to break free.

Human rights for the most part weren't violated much- but when they were, it was…so small and in such a way that there weren't any laws about it yet. It was like the capitalists were playing a game of 'find the most loop-holey way we can torture our workers'.

"Damn," he says. "I'd hate to work for a Human, then."

I bark a laugh. "It's mostly fixed now, so don't worry about it. It's just that we're so in the habit of doing it, we just kinda…do. For no reason, now."

Universal health care, sort of- I mean if you've got the paperwork filled out. Sex education and birth control are pretty fucking great.

Still, the Council has better in those areas, too.

"Can't imagine overworking myself for _nothing_ ," he says. And I can see from the way his brow plates are slightly angled that he's a bit aghast.

I've been doing a lot of work on micro-expressions in alien species, too.

Mostly just the big three for right now as they're who I'll encounter the most…but I'll figure out the rest, later.

"I don't know about Turians- I'm still doing my research there," I say and wink. "But Humans have this inherent need to be useful, liked and productive. It's part of our culture, but we're also primarily a social species. Like super social. Like I'm fond of you right now and we just met, kinda social."

He blinks and his mandibles twitch again. Surprise? I think so. I'm still bad at telling those twitches apart as precisely as I'd like. "What, really?"

"We've been having a lovely conversation and you're making me a smoothie," I reply. "Our interaction has been a give and take from the moment I said hello. Humans like it when you're receptive to opening communication and treat them like friends- well. Most of them. The antisocial types prefer to keep it all professional."

"How do you tell the difference?" he asks.

"If they're happy, communicative or at least _open_ to socialization, you can coax them into sharing something with you, like a joke. It'll ease them into a jovial interaction one way or another. But people who seem to want to just disappear or shrink into themselves would likely prefer you speak to them as little as possible." I explain.

"Alright, Strawberry?" he asks and holds up the vial. "That's one of the ones you mentioned."

"Strawberry is good!" I say with a grin.

"Shift change," a Salarian appears from off to the side- probably walking through the shadowy club for a moment or two before that but I didn't notice.

' _He didn't just spawn there, relax. This isn't the game anymore, and he's real. He's_ _ **real**_.' I think to myself, trying to soothe my fight or flight response.

"Oh, Farkan," the Turian stands to his full height. "This Human needs a strawberry shake with some infusions."

"Which ones?" he says after getting behind the bar and turning to me. And I can _just tell_ this guy is one of those types of people who hate being buddy-buddy while on the job. The body language alone for a Salarian is very anti-friendly and anti-social.

Head turned slightly away from me, eyes focused down or to the side while still looking like he's kind of meeting my eyes. Like he's just a degree away from ignoring my existence.

Eye position is pretty important to Salarians, socially.

"Something for energy, building up muscle if there's anything for that? Ummm…maybe something that'll help soothe sore muscles and relax you?" I list off.

The Salarian…Farkan, wasn't it? That's what the Turian said. He gets a few canisters out and begins to explain their uses to me.

"Asari _sleepbody_ mix," his translator struggles to say. "It relaxes the muscles but it might make you drowsy. Asari and Human biology is different but it seems to have the same _general_ effect?"

The Turian takes his stuff from behind the bar and turns to go, before stopping and turning back to lean on the bar next to me as Farkan reaches for the next canister. "I'm Zakare by the way, you are?"

I recognize it for the overture of friendliness it is and smile. "Malicia."

Farkan makes a noise like a sigh or a grunt and starts tapping the other canisters and detailing their uses.

Think maybe I should pay attention till he's done and make my order before finding out if Zakare wants to hang out.


	5. Chapter 5

It happens about once a week if there are a lot of Batarians flying in to refuel or buy supplies they intend to sell or whatever.

They say something offensive to somebody, somebody feels threatened, overreacts- everybody starts fighting.

If it's an unlucky day, it'll come to blows- or shots. If it's a lucky day, shouting is where it begins and ends.

The Citadel's had a lot more lucky days since I started training to be in C-Sec. Considering I've only been training about a month, I guess that's not many lucky days.

"Hey, everybody calm down," I walk between the Batarian and Turian who've been arguing. "Deescalate this situation before you both get in trouble with C-Sec. Come on, you're both on vacation, do you really need this aggravation?"

They growl at each other over my head and then turn on their respective heels and stalk off, muttering about aliens and their attitude.

People are people everywhere, I guess. Even in other species on other planets. You'll find something similar about everybody and nobody will be able to even tell they're mad at their own reflection because it doesn't look similar enough to them.

It happens within your own species, too, though. People will hate stubbornness in others but not even notice it in themselves. Same with other traits people think are undesirable.

Personally I think all traits can be worked around if you're trying hard enough to understand the other person's side of the argument.

Stubbornness usually unfolds from a desire to be heard, understood and respected.

So if you show a person you're listening to them, addressing their concerns, help them to understand what you're saying- they might still say no or refuse to do what you want, but they might also grudgingly say yes.

It really depends on whether or not they're used to getting their way and if they feel insulted by what you're proposing. Cause if they feel like you're talking down to them, they won't want to do whatever you suggest, even if it's a good idea.

It may not be what is traditionally considered logical but logical thinking must also include emotional prediction.

You can't just tell people they shouldn't feel a certain way. You should be able to tell how they'll feel and why and then work logically around it. To bring about a better result.

Man is insulted because other man implied he doesn't know how to do something.

He will now insist upon doing that thing, even though he's got no clue and it might even be dangerous- all because his pride was hurt.

Does that mean the other man can't stop him? No, he just refuses to change tactics. He'll continue insulting the man and telling him to just call a professional and he's putting the first man in danger in the process.

He should've taken a deep breath, told his friend that he thinks he could do it with instructions or training but that he didn't want to be the reason his friend got hurt trying to fix something and he's sorry he insulted him.

But people would rather die than do that sometimes so that's where _I_ come in.

Sure, I'm only an amateur, but I've been doing it all my life.

"Hey, your breaks almost over, come have your smoothie!" Emilius calls out from a nearby alcove.

Shit, that's right.

I rush over to him and take the smoothie, drinking it as quickly as I can without getting a brain freeze. "Thanks! Sorry about that."

"You going into Diplomacy?" he asks with his rumbling two-toned voice. Chirps can be heard under the synthesized human voice- what Turians actually sound like.

They're strange chirps, though. Like Velociraptor chirps or something. Deep and throaty but…you know.

There _are_ higher-pitched whistles and chirps, it's just…I guess their synth-voices are deep because that's how it sounds to a human hearing them speak their own language and stuff for the most part.

"I've been _in diplomacy_ my whole life," I reply snarkily. "I doubt that's gonna change, no matter what branch I go into."

He snorts in amusement at me. It's sort of similar to how a human would do it. He does it with his nasal ridge, at least.

"You're gonna have to pick something before the tests," he says. "Why are you dragging your feet on specializing?"

"Why should I have to specialize when I'm good at more than one thing in a specific category? Why should I have to choose at all?" I complain.

"Diplomat, representative for legal counsel and profiler are all dramatically different jobs," he says.

"And I'm good at all of them," I reply. "I've almost got the laws completely memorized- or well, the basics anyway. Memorizing word for word seems like overkill when you could just memorize what's illegal and what's not and all the loopholes instead of the exact phrasing. I've been studying psychology on and off my whole life, otherwise I wouldn't have all this knowledge in my head that allows me to analyze people in situations the way I do. And people listen to me, so I must have what it takes to be a diplomat."

"Right and your scores on all the preliminary tests were higher than average for psychological analytics and the different types of psychologies between species so it's not like you'd have a hard time with any of those jobs, but…" he shrugs. "You can't be all of them, Shepard. You have to pick one. Profilers are sometimes called upon to talk people down, so it's not like you wouldn't ever do diplomatic things."

"Ughhh," I let my head loll a bit on my neck. "I just wanna be able to have the flexibility to do whatever needs done in whatever situation calls for it and I wanna be able to do it without having to call someone else over to do a job I could've damn well done myself."

"You need more than one set of eyes on a problem," he replies. "Can't do everything all the time. Just pick the job you think you're best suited for, and then you can get certified in any other way you think is necessary. It'd take a long time, and you still wouldn't be able to do more than one job at once, but it's the only way you're getting close to what you want."

' _I mean, unless I were a Spectre_ ,' I think, but don't say aloud.

I've taken Shepard's name because they apparently don't exist in this universe- but that doesn't mean I've taken their place.

I'm not in the Alliance, the Beacon on Eden Prime was excavated without incident, the Reapers don't seem to be real…I mean, I'm still watching for that, but nobody's reported anything on it. Not even conspiracy theorists.

"Sure, I guess," I say dejectedly. "Next month we're taking the exams to determine our knowledge of the laws, right? Wanna quiz each other?"

He gives me a strange look, "quiz…each other?"

"Is that translating weird? Sorry, it means- do you wanna prepare for the test by coming up with scenarios and then asking each other the relevant laws?" I ask.

His mandibles flutter outward just the tiniest bit. Indicating surprise. "I…sure. Oh, it's time to get back."

God damn it, I'm gonna be forced to waste half my smoothie if I can't get it drank before we get back!

Eyeballing it, I figure I can do it with minimal brainfreeze. Here goes.


	6. Chapter 6

I don't know how this keeps happening to me when I'm just out shopping for groceries and shit.

"Mal, you have to help!" an Asari frantically waves at me. I think that's Yanara V'Role? She's one of Tevli's friends on the station. "I'm so sorry to bother you, but please come over!"

Internally sighing, I calmly walk over to the woman and take stock of the situation.

A Krogan, a Turian and a Salarian all in her shop, arguing over the fashions on display.

"Oh thank you for coming," she says in a very at-her-wits-end kind of way. "These men are darling usually, good friends, they don't cause trouble…but now they're all arguing over something and when I try to help, they all speak over each other. I can't tell what's going on."

Ah, one of those situations you can't really handle by yourself when you're just a retail worker.

So far as I can recall, that's all Yanara's ever really been? Her younger days were spent mostly studying and trying to build enough capital to buy her own ship. Once she'd gotten it, she traveled for a while, seeing beautiful planets and then settled on the Citadel. She's barely 160, so it's not like she's a Matron yet, but she says everyone is convinced she acts like it.

Walking over to the group of three guys, I wait for them to lull or hush for even just a second.

It takes a minute, but then I finally see my chance.

And I shout, " _HEY FUCKERS!_ " At the top of my lungs.

They all whirl around and the Salarian gapes at me while the Turian stares at me with confusion and the Krogan just looks irritated.

"Thank you for your attention. I will have to ask you three gentlemen to either shut up or leave as you're making the staff uncomfortable and chasing off prospective customers," I say in the most customer-service voice I have.

"Oh good, a manager!" the Salarian says. "You can settle our argument. And we'll be able to make our purchase and leave."

It's not the worst thing I could be mistaken for. Whatever. "And your argument is about?"

"These two think they're gonna dress me up," the Krogan growls. "Krogan women don't care about clothes!"

Oh my god. That's simultaneously adorable and annoying. Why couldn't they have argued about this somewhere else?

"Oh honey," I reply with a sympathetic tone. "It isn't about whether or not the women like it. It's about how it makes you feel about yourself. If you're more confident, a woman will notice that and most women I know like confidence to some degree. Are Krogan women different?"

He grumbles thoughtfully. "Maybe not…but I'm not gonna feel confident in some…tight suit. Without any armor on it…"

"Perhaps you'd prefer some ballistic-weave fabric?" Yanara comes up next to me to offer. "I can of course get you some in whatever colors you like, then design and tailor a custom piece just for you, based on Krogan fashions!"

At that point, I just went on my merry way and hoped to the gods they didn't start arguing again.

"Cadet initiate," someone addresses from behind me as I walk away from the shop.

I immediately straighten up and turn around. It's instinct from having so many people call me that during the training program.

And I know that voice.

"Chellick!" I say in surprise. "Did you need me for something?"

He's actually one of the less asshole-ish instructors. Plus the sexy voice, pretty green eyes and beautiful light bluish-white colony markings are all a bonus.

A really _nice_ bonus.

"Yes, actually," he says. "I was looking over a case and I wanted to test your deductive reasoning. You mind indulging me?"

He does this sometimes, but usually only when I'm at the headquarters.

"I'm off-hours, but sure," I reply. "Crime solving is fun!"

He makes a noise of amusement and follows me back to my apartment. Falling into step with me easily. "Alright, here's the most basic layout of the problem."

He proceeds to give me the details of a crime- one that was carried out only a few hours ago. Time is not on our side and we have to figure out who did it, and quickly. So how do we do that without wasting unnecessary resources?

"Time is the only resource that matters for something like this," I reply. "If a bomb's been planted, or a biological agent released- then time is absolutely the only consideration you should have. People will forgive a little one-hour martial law curfew or whatever. What they _won't_ forgive, is the deaths of their family and friends."

"And what if it takes longer than that to rectify?" he asks. "We find the source, we mitigate the threat- but let's say that biological agent will take a few days to completely get rid of. What then?"

"You keep people fully informed of your progress and unlock areas as they're completely sterilized," I reply as we get into an elevator and head for the apartments district. "If somewhere was never touched by it, you keep that area open to the public- then each time you clear an area, you let people know and unlock it for them. This will make people feel like they're involved and informed even if they can't know everything- and it will make them feel less boxed in to know it'll be only a matter of hours before this section or that one is open to explore again."

"And if the situation is resolved immediately and people are still upset that they were shut up in their homes for an hour?" he asks.

"People are usually happy to receive compensation for their losses. So people who missed work could be excused by their bosses by order of the Council or C-Sec or whoever has that authority- and for those who are just mad to have been cooped up…there's nothing you can do about that," I say. "The kind of person who's mad they had to be locked up even if it saved their life is either irrational or they're the type of person who'd rather die than take a different route to work, even though the road is out."

"You wouldn't call that irrational?" he asks.

"No, I'd say they're stubborn and dedicated to their own personal freedoms," I reply. "Irrational implies that they've rationalized their actions badly or wrongly. Like let's say, they think they can't be hurt because they've never been hurt before. That's irrational. But believing normalcy is worth dying for is just a belief. A belief I don't agree with, but a belief nonetheless."

The elevator stops and we step off together, walking down the 'street' toward the blocks with Anderson's apartment in them.

"Interesting," he says. "Not many can take the beliefs of others as seriously as their own, not discounting them as frivolous or irrational when it doesn't match up with their own ideals."

"It's easy, people just choose not to do it," I reply. "If I told you something you disagreed with, your first instinct would be to tell me I was wrong. But you could take an extra second- say to yourself that just because it's not the same thing you believe, that doesn't mean it's invalid and actually analyze it before coming to a decision. But people are so conditioned to just…act. Speak. Come forward with their thoughts before they're even fully formed in so many cultures. The only ones taught not to do that are the Asari and the Salarians- and even they're only taught to analyze scientifically, religiously and where it concerns their relationships- not just…themselves."

"Everyone, including humans?" he asks.

I snort in derision. " _Especially_ humans," I say. "I didn't learn to be this way because anybody taught me. And nobody was ever going to. In order to become a better person, you have to dedicate yourself to self-improvement. It's the only way anyone will learn in their adulthood. Even if there _were_ self-help classes, they could only help so much. You have to make the decision to do better yourself and then put in the effort. You can't just expect to learn to go through the motions and then be an expert on how to circumvent yourself. You have to make hundreds of mistakes."

"Sounds grueling," he says. "Lots of people would probably rather just consider themselves mediocre people than go through that."

"They're not mediocre, though, that's the thing," I say. "They're contemptible. _I'm_ mediocre. This is just how things should be. There should be more consideration for others in the world, but there's not. Which means the bar gets lowered, but it's not gone. And the original position it always should've been in- we all know it. It's not hard to figure out. We just deny it because it's inconvenient."

He hums and stops as we reach the apartment door. "Thank you for your time, Cadet Initiate," he says. "This conversation was very enlightening."


	7. Chapter 7

"Oh come on, even if your people don't have the same sex drive, you've gotta have some kind of community-genes in there," I reply. "Socialization is necessary for every species! I hate it, but it's true."

"Genetic necessity doesn't mean I have to go out and do it," Farkan mutters as he mixes my smoothie. "And it also doesn't mean I _want to_ either."

"Sure, sure," I reply. "But everyone _needs_ it- so while you're perfectly happy to deprive yourself, your health could be declining."

"Oh good, I won't live to see forty," he says. "I wasn't looking forward to desiccating with age."

"You wanna know something funny though," I say. "Your job probably counts as interaction enough that you'll live to at least fifty," I joke.

"Damn, I knew this whole earning money thing was a bad idea," he says as he slips the smoothie over the counter to me. "Now are you gonna leave me alone or do you have more _titillating_ health facts for me?"

"I'll let you escape, but only because I need to find Zakare, he's supposed to meet up with me here." I take a sip. " _Mmmh_ , god that hits the spot after a full day of working out."

"Go take your provocative noises somewhere they'll be appreciated, I've got work to do," Farkan says as he walks over to another customer.

I chuckle and get off my stool, walking over to the corner where Zakare should be waiting for me.

Farkan and I had to come to a sense of equilibrium over the course of the last few weeks before he'd even talk to me that long. And he only seems to know how to trade barbs and witty banter.

I love it.

Sitting down across from Zakare, I take note of the fact that he's watching a few Asari and Human women dance.

"Bendy waists are really all that's needed to turn a Turian's head, isn't it?" I ask.

He huffs through his nasal ridge and looks over at me. "Jealous?"

"Oh I'm turning green with envy, just dying of inattention," I say. Then sip my smoothie.

Leaning forward over the table between us, he purrs at me, "how rude of me to ignore you when you've got the bendiest waist in the room." And then he sits back, serious now. Funny how Turians can do that, like turning a switch on and off.

I can, too, but most humans I know are a little…rigid…in their moods.

"So, how's training going?" he asks as he leans back and spreads his arms out over the top of his booth.

"All my teachers hate me except maybe Chellick, all the students look down on me except maybe Emilius and all the current staff think I can't make it," I reply. Shrugging. "What else is new?"

"I envy you that attitude," he says. "How do you just not care what other people think?"

"Easier than it seems. The only reason you actually care is because you were taught to. I just never saw the logic in it." Sitting back in the booth and sipping my smoothie, I think for a moment. "How come you didn't join up with C-Sec or stay in the Military after your mandatory tour?"

He grumbles sub-vocally which translates to a slight growl in the undertones of his voice. "Hated the Military. Didn't even want to go in the first place, but if you don't, you're not a full citizen. You could even be considered AWOL."

"At fifteen?" I ask, incredulously.

"Yes, exactly!" He gestures at me with vehemence. "You get it, that's insane!"

"I think all cultures should have an opt-out for children," I say. "Kids have no rights. People say they don't know what they want, but it isn't true."

"I knew I didn't want to go into the Military," he says. "Might not have known anything else, but I knew that."

"And what sparkling conversation is going on over here, then?" a voice asks as a beautifully made-up Asari walks over to us.

"Tevli!" I greet them with a bright grin. "You look gorgeous!"

"Oh, thank you!" they stop and fluster for a moment, but recover quickly. "I saw you over here talking to someone and thought perhaps you could introduce me to your friend."

Zakere stands up and steps out of the booth, coming around to hold out a hand to them. "Zakere, good to meet you, uh…Tevli?"

"Yes, that's it," they reply with a grin.

I stand from the booth too and lean on the table. "Hey you guys, the day isn't over yet, let's dance together and order some oily salted foods that will definitely not agree with us in an hour."

Tevli laughs and Zakere shakes his head. "You two dance. Turians on the dance floor are like Elcor in a closet."

At that moment, Tevli and I glance at each other before moving in to secure one arm each of Zakere's. In perfect sync.

"Oh I don't think so," I say. "I can show you a few dances that Turians can _definitely_ do."

"And if you'd prefer, Mal and I can simply dance around you," Tevli grins. "You can be the pole, for lack of a better term."

Zakere looks both nervous and _really_ interested.

In the end if he were to say no, definitively- we'd let him go. But make a sweeping generalization like that and people are going to assume you're saying you just don't know how and assume that you've never tried.

Turns out in this situation, we were right.


	8. Chapter 8

" **Again, Shepard** ," Chellick calls out as I finish my circuit of the obstacle course. " **Take it slow this time. You never know when speed is going to be a detriment in any given situation. If the floor is slippery with water or ice, you'd need to take more care.** "

"I hate moving slow if there's not an actual reason, can you put ice on the obstacle course?" I ask cheekily. "Maybe you could shave a bit off your shoulders."

" **My translator informs me that was a joke about my demeanor** ," he replies through the loud speakers. " **It is not my job to amuse you, cadet initiate.** "

"It's not your job to be so cold either, though," I reply. "And I know your personality is different from this, so just be normal!"

Emilius comes up next to me and catches his breath. He's less out of it than I am. "You are the only person I know who talks back to their instructors."

"I'm human," I reply. "When given leeway, we keep pushing until we get pushed back. We like to establish boundaries so we know the limits of what we can and can't do."

" **Your psychological analysis of yourself is noted. Now run through the course again, slowly this time.** " The voice booming over the speakers is no less detached than it was.

Emilius and I exchange a long-suffering look, though his is more subtle than mine- and we go through it again.

Because what else can we do?

I trip over my own feet a few times because I keep having to remind myself to go slow. Which is unfair because if there WERE actually ice on the ground, I might forget to watch my step but I definitely wouldn't forget to slow down.

This obstacle course can't be a true test of your abilities and reactions if it has no kind of representation of things you should be wary of.

Holographic snow would be enough. A person sees snow, they think, 'oooh, I better be careful, there might be ice too!'

But do they bother? Of course not. Because apparently Turians are capable of imagining snow and ice for the purposes of training exercises.

Eventually I get tired of it and go around the course after another run through, putting ice down everywhere with my cryo-thingy on my omni-tool. It doesn't last long, but I don't need it to.

"Alright, going again," I say and get back at the start with Emilius. "You can stay here?"

"No way," he says. "Going with you."

He steps up next to me and I can see he's as tired as I am. He's been training an hour or two longer than me, though.

" **What exactly, are you trying to prove by covering the track in cryogenic ice?** " Chellick's voice booms out on the speakers.

I huff and focus on the course before me. "That your training courses could use a tweak."

And then we move.

It still takes a _while_ to get through the course. But this time, because I don't have to focus so much on slowing down- because my brain just automatically _adapts_ to the terrain- I can really go at the holographic enemies and help support Emilius as he defends the holographic civvies.

We end up killing fifteen more enemies and saving four more civvies than before. Might not seem like much, but considering the record is fifty enemies and seventeen civvies- saving thirteen in all and killing thirty is actually pretty damn good for a pair of rookies.

By the time it's finished, Emilius and I are both gasping for air and leaning on the wall just outside the training arena.

"Spirits," Emilius groans. "I'm never letting you talk me into something like that again. How did the ice make you _better_?"

"I didn't have to focus on _imagining_ ice," I reply, in-between gulping down water. "My brain automatically adapted to the terrain like most humans' does and I was able to focus completely on the enemies and civilians."

Emilius gapes at me and it's funny because a Turian gaping means his mandibles are all flared out along with his jaw dropping- so he kinda looks like the Alien from Alien but really surprised.

I burst into a giggle fit at seeing it, I'm not proud to say. I can't help it, I'm exhaused!

"Humans can adapt to their terrain so easily?" Chellick observes as he walks over to us. Handing Emilius a special smoothie that all the Turians drink to replenish their energy. Kinda like our own drinks filled with electrolytes, I think?

"You guys didn't know that?" I ask. "Wait, what do you do? Just focus really hard on the terrain while you fight? That sounds exhausting!"

"Not really another option considering our people aren't freakishly good at ignoring things while still noticing them," Emilius says sourly. "Starting to see how you lasted so long during the Relay 314 Incident."

"Do you realize calling it an 'incident' is just your way of putting Humanity down?" I ask. "It wasn't an _incident_. It was a _war_."

They both go silent and stare at me, bodies going rigid.

I scoff and get up off the wall I was leaning on. "What? You going to tell me that's not it? That it's only called an 'incident' because of course Humans are a small race, underdeveloped and it's just a statement of fact? Cause I got news for you, that's still putting us down."

Turning on my heel, I walk off at a sedate pace.

I'm so _tired_ of all the bullshit. Even the small things are so irritating to me now that I nearly bite everyone's heads off for them every time I hear them saying…fucking…

Anything, really. Anything about us, anything about comparisons between species.

There _is_ no comparison. Every thinking being is on the same level of worth. You don't become more important because you live longer or your technology is more advanced. People are people, damn it.

I'm getting dressed at my locker in a very vehement fashion. Throwing my clothes into the bag I use to take them home and launder them in. Putting my clean clothes on as I go.

When I'm done, I turn around and leap backwards, knocking into the lockers. "Jesus!"

"Sorry," Chellick tilts his head in that way that means a Turian is being apologetic. It's kinda a tilt and stretch? Bares their throat a little. To a human it might look arrogant, like they're looking down their nose at you. No wonder our people had such a rocky start if even the nicest expressions they can manage are really offensive to us.

"What do you want?" I ask as I secure my locker again, just to make sure I didn't break the mechanism.

"To talk about you possibly taking the course for Detective," he says.

I groan. "Chellick."

"You keep blowing me off, and all I want is to talk," he says. "Is there a reason you won't consider it?"

"There are too many considerations already, Chellick, and Detectives take longer to train and test," I say. "I don't want to be a combat specialist or a beat cop. I want to be a pure investigator or somebody you can call to mediate disputes or even somebody you can go to when you think there's evidence of wrongdoing but aren't sure. Someone who can work behind the scenes, out of danger. Using words and tech and maybe a little fighting, but only when necessary."

"Why did you mention the training taking longer?" he asks. "Are you on a deadline?"

"I need a _job_ , Chellick," I say. "I'm mooching off of a really nice person and I want to contribute. I feel like every cent of theirs I have to spend, I have to pay back. And if I don't start soon, I'll never be able to."

My hand against my locker slowly clenches into a fist, pressing against the metal above the bio-scanner.

"When does this friend need their credits back?" he asks.

I laugh and punch the locker. "Never! They'd tell me never! And I know they make enough it doesn't matter to them, but it matters to me!"

Tears build up in my eyes and I feel an ache start to press in on my chest.

"I see," Chellick says. "Nothing says you can't take a lower-tier job and test for Detective later."

I snort. He never fucking gives up. "You wanna talk to me about a job I might not take for two or more _years_?"

"Do humans not plan ahead?" he asks.

"Fucking…" I push off the locker and turn to face him. "Fine. We can discuss it. Later. I'm too tired today. Find me at the Dark Star Lounge on the weekend. I'll be with friends and we can discuss it so long as you're in civvies. I mean it."

He huffs and his mandibles skitter against his face a little. "Stubborn woman."

"Look who's talking," I reply and leave with my bag's strap over my shoulder. "Civvies, Chellick!"


	9. Chapter 9

Coming home to an empty apartment can be soothing when it's tiny. When it's empty and large, it's almost…infuriatingly eerie.

Not like you're afraid but like you know there's nobody there and it's too much _space_ for one person to occupy all by themselves and it feels _wrong_.

Though that might be because I just failed my first test in C-Sec, which means each successive test will have automatic demerits on it. That's how the C-Sec test works. The more you fail, the harder it is to succeed.

Emilius and Chellick were so flabbergasted, I know it had to have been an instructor pulling shit and not me sucking. The test I took was preliminary. Just to get me into C-Sec. The other tests, the harder ones, for more complex shit- are only taken when you're up for promotion.

To be a beat cop, for lack of a better term, you only really need to have great aim, good discipline- know the law _and_ how to deescalate a situation.

Which seems like a lot until you compare it to what you have to do to become a _detective_ or something. God, so many tests, so many courses. Why did I let Chellick talk me into it?

…and why is this apartment so fucking huge!? I understand wanting to retire someplace nice, but there's got to be at least five rooms in here.

There were only two in the game, but on the upper level there's three of them kinda hidden away in different locations. Sporadically scattered like…like a room you put in the house for people who are partying to collapse in or something.

Small, utilitarian rooms.

…four extra rooms means extra space for other people. Other people who might not be able to rent anywhere else. And most jobs need proof of residence so anyone without a place to rent and proof of residence won't be able to get a job.

And there are a LOT of Quarians on the station with no place to stay.

"Hey Anderson," I say to the miniature screen on my Omni-tool as the call goes through. "Am I interrupting anything?"

" _Nah, we just finished for the day,_ " he replies. " _How did your test go?_ "

"Failed, but I'm pretty sure it wasn't me," I shrug. "Expected it."

" _Doesn't make it any less upsetting, I'm sure. You want to talk about it?_ " he asks.

"No, but I _do_ have _something_ I wanna ask you. Just keep in mind, I'm only making a suggestion. I am not asking for a favor or telling you what to do with your place." I'm uncomfortable asking to begin with.

" _Something serious, then_ ," he says. " _Go on. I'm anxious to hear what you've got in mind._ "

"Quarians are mistreated, badly, everywhere," I say. "Here in citadel space, they need a place of residence to get a job, but they're migratory. It's literally in their cultural heritage not to have a home except on a ship in the migrant fleet. After their Pilgrimage, they're fine. But they're really…really struggling. And I want to help them, but I don't have the resources."

" _But I do,_ " he says. " _I see what you're driving at. What resources will I be using, then?_ "

"This apartment has four extra rooms. Three if we're saying one of them is for you and one for me," I explain. "We could rent it out to Quarians, cheaply- giving them a place to say they're living and put down on their resumes. Once they've finished their work and can go back to the fleet, they can give up the slot to someone else. It's not much, but it might really help a few of them."

" _You ever thought of going into politics?_ " he says.

"Ew," I reply. "No offense to people doing it right but the amount of manipulation and power-hoarding you have to do just to get elected is gross. I would feel gross."

There's some people with the moral fortitude to go through it and fix things from within but I don't have that particular kind of strength. Or at least, I don't wanna push it.

I might end up just taking everything over and killing everyone in my way. To my mind, it would make sense. Corrupt politicians deserve to get guillotine'd and so do the super rich who hoard their wealth. It'd make life better for everyone.

But I'd also just be one more person using their influence to do stuff- instead of making things equal, I'd just further perpetuate the cycle. I need to do that kind of shit with everyone working together to bring it about or not at all.

I just don't have the patience and the restraint to be a politician.

" _I hear you on that,_ " he says. " _I'll make you a deal. You can rent out the rooms and even fix up the extra space into extra rooms if you can, but they have to pay at least a hundred in rent. Use the money to keep fixing the place up and to stockpile medical supplies. You know they're gonna need it._ "

It's a lot cheaper than most places in this neighborhood would be. Meaning the Quarians will either have no problem in affording it, or some of them will have to borrow cash from friends also on their pilgrimage and either way…they'll have a place to live.

"You're sure?" I ask, uncertain. "This is your home, right?"

" _Eh, Kahlee'd probably like the idea of turning it into a refugee center until we retire. I will talk to her about it, but I can't see her saying no. So yeah, do what you think is right,_ " he says.

After the call ends, I don't know where to begin. I know the laws about occupying places.

About how your place has to be up to a certain standard to have people living in it. How you need a license to rent places out or board people. How much money some of them can cost….ugh…

Focus on the first hurdle here. Getting the rooms ready for Quarian occupation and finding Quarian occupants to occupy them.

Remembering that I already know a Quarian on the station, I flick through the contact list for independent contractors on the extranet. Until I see a _lot_ of Quarian names in the 'Engineering' section.

I do a search for her name in every possible spelling I can think of and-

"There you are!" I get so excited that I just hit her name without really thinking of what I'm going to say. "Oh sh- hey Zummi!"

"... _who is this?_ " she asks tentatively.

"It's Shepard, from the shop? I bought you some bolts, whatever- I had an offer for you and like, two of your friends, do you mind coming by?" I ask.

" _Oh, well, of course. We can see if there's anything we can do,_ " she says. " _Though I'd need to know the nature of the problem-_ "

"No, I don't mean like repair work, hang on," I take a few quick pictures of the space around me and myself in a selfie on the couch. "This is where I live and the guy who owns it just gave me the go-ahead to rent out the extra rooms. A hundred credits a month, to cover any repair work and medical supplies needed, should be all that's necessary. Utilities and stuff are already taken care of. If you know anyone who'd be interested, or if you would be. Here's the address."

There's a protracted silence on the line. " _I'll come by later to see the place. I will make no promises._ "

It's weird how dark her tone went, but considering what Quarian life is like, she probably anticipates some kind of joke or something.

"Sure, see you later, hey- question," I say as I shuffle through the extranet while on the call. "I can't find any of the living requirements for Quarians on the net. Do you have special equipment we can have made or is there a way to kinda-sterilize an environment without a bunch of machinery, like is there a chemical I need to find or…"

Another, longer silence.

" _If I decide it's a place we should live, I'll bring what we need,_ " she says.

Her tone is more confused now.

"Alright, see you…whenever you get here? I won't be here most days till like seven p.m. but you can come up on the weekend after noon and I'll be able to show you the place," I say.

"... _I'll come by this weekend, then._ "

"Great, see you then!" and now I have to figure out what kind of comforts and amenities a Quarian would even need.

They probably can't take showers anywhere but the flotilla- unless they can set up some kind of sterile environment and special equipment for it.

That means their suit takes care of their needs- what about things like perfume? Hm. No, their olfactory sensors might go wild or something.

 _Filters_ though. Filters for water and food…where do you get those…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am still not totally stocked up on backlog for the coming weeks but I managed to get this week's update finished!
> 
> Special thanks to AmberJae who is almost single-handedly fueling my creativity right now with their wonderful, long and descriptive comments!
> 
> Also to Shizzy1981, Sugah_Cookeh, Johskathewise and SiberianSpring, too!


	10. Chapter 10

It's been about a week since Zummi inspected every inch of the apartment and told me she might be able to persuade a person or two to live there.

Since then, I've installed two small, portable clean rooms. I used the first months' deposit that everyone gave me to do it.

They're like a trailer park shower, but made of this nearly indestructible glass? The glass turns opaque when the hot water is on, like totally and completely- so it doesn't need curtains or anything. And once they're inside, they just put their suit into a little compartment where it goes through a self-cleaning cycle. Then they dry off and get dressed back into the same, but now clean, suit.

I've noticed that the people living here now, with the accommodations are actually pretty upbeat. Zummi was the first to start humming things to herself as she worked, and now everyone joins in.

It's adorable, really. I like having so many happy people living with me and knowing that they're happy because they feel safe and well taken care of here.

But there's also a LOT of them.

And I'm beginning to see what the problem really is. It's not even that there's no shelters- because there are. There's just so many Quarians who flock to the shelters to stay for a bit and then leave that the people AT those shelters have no resources to improve them with.

The Quarians do their part in repairing stuff and all, but when you've got like twenty-five people to a shelter and they're all packed in like sardines…

Without their suits, the Quarians would be living in incredibly unhealthy environments.

Which isn't to say it's DIRTY at all, because wow, I have never lived in a cleaner house. It's just…too many, too much. There's like seven people living in this place and while it is super spacious- that means that all seven sometimes have people coming in and out to pick up food and other stuff they need.

Which means we have more like ten to twelve people running in and out at all times and maybe even more than that sometimes.

The Apartment isn't big enough for people to come up and borrow the portable showers every day so there are rotations- and my bathroom is off-limits because nobody can use it so I have that one space plus my bedroom to myself to be completely alone.

So it's not like I can't deal.

But I look at the huge swathes of people and I realize…this is a band-aid. This isn't going to solve the problem, even just for right now. If there were more Quarians living on the Citadel, permanently, maybe it would be okay. But Quarians living on the Citadel permanently would be exiles. And it's likely they wouldn't be allowed to stay with them anyway.

So I pulled Zummi aside and I asked her. "What do you think we can do to get a bigger, more permanent space for your people to live in? How can I get the money and the approvals to allow you to own property on the Citadel that is technically owned by all of you? Or can we just name one of the Admirals? All of them? As co-owners?"

She stared at me for a few moments at the time before answering.

I'm guessing now that it was because the question had seemed to come out of nowhere for her.

Told me "Nobody has the money to be spending on big houses everywhere, not even the Admirals. Every spare credit goes into the Flotilla."

So I spent hours in my room, researching the more…seedy and dark places on the Citadel for something usable.

There were… _a lot_ more broken down warehouses and old apartment buildings and other shit like that than I was…prepared for.

So many were in foreclosure or had been claimed as part of someone's estate and were now for sale for like…two thousand credits and up.

Depending on size, the amount of lot space around the property and whether or not they were up to code…I found three places for under eight thousand credits that might be just busted up enough to need fixing but also not so busted that they couldn't be fixed up in a couple weeks and support some people.

Which is why me and Zummi are currently walking around in an old mall.

"This place is spacious," she says as she walks with me. "For six thousand credits…I expected worse damage."

"They reduced the price both because this whole place went out of business and also because…" I sigh. "The wiring went all…terribly wrong. It almost burned down. But you guys are some of the best tech experts in the galaxy, so I figured you'd be able to fix it up."

She hums and crosses her arms, surveying the place. "Also I assume, because it is filthy."

I snort a little, unable to help myself. "God, so filthy. But we can use some of the rent money to hire a cleaning crew, no big deal with that-"

"Why are you doing this?" she asks.

But she's faced away from me.

It seems kinda like her back is all tensed up, too. I can tell. The suits are very expressive. They pull at the cloth in certain ways depending on how they're holding themselves.

They have to be expressive though, since you kinda can't see their faces. Body language is super important to them.

So I walk around to face her and smile when she lifts her head to look at me.

I've been studying body language for all the species as much as I can, and I think I have this one gesture figured out for Quarians, but…

Whatever. I make my stance as open as I can without looking ridiculous and push my shoulders back to symbolize that I am comfortable and confident.

Relaxed and open.

"Because none of this should be necessary," I say. "The Council should've taken care of you. But they didn't. They're supposed to take care of all of us, but they don't. There are Drell and Volus and Quarians and other species that are living down in the very bottom of the Citadel, alone and hungry and miserable because the governing body just doesn't care about them."

She doesn't interrupt me, and her stance becomes looser. She's listening.

"Humans are only better off because of a myriad of random variables," I say. "It might look like usurpation or good fortune to outsiders, but the truth is, we're in as fragile a place as you are. And if we're all going to rise, we have to stand together."

"So you want to elevate your own people by working with mine," she says.

"No," I reply. "My people's position is fragile, but still better than yours. I wanna elevate _your_ people, with mine. And then if you return the favor and do kindness to every other disadvantaged species that you can, it will have been worth it."

She crosses her arms again, but it's a tight gesture. "I don't understand."

"You don't have to," I reply. "The point isn't that I want to be _higher_. The point is that I want to be on the same level as _everybody else_. And I can't be if some people are above or below me. That is the only thing that you really have to understand."

Lifting her hooded head, her glowing eyes stare at me in silence for a long moment.

And then she shifts away from me and looks at the room around us. "This place is going to take _months_ to fully turn into a clean facility where our people can truly be safe. But we cannot keep hopping from planet to planet- station to station, without a place to rest on our pilgrimage. A place of true safety and protection. If this could be that place, then it is worth any price and any amount of work we will have to do."

"Just tell me what I can do to help," I say. "I know this was my idea and I kinda dragged you around, looking at places…" Remembering that kinda makes me cringe. She was so unenthused, all day, wasn't she? Why didn't I realize that? "And I'm sorry I didn't realize before now that you were just kinda humoring me-"

"I wasn't," she says and turns back to face me again. "You bewilder me. But I can deal with that if it means my people will be safe and happy. If it means the Flotilla has a place they can send wounded for treatment off the Flotilla and those on pilgrimage can go to sleep and eat. I will weather the bewilderment for that."

I snort a little. "I'm not that confusing! Why do people keep _saying_ that!?"


	11. Chapter 11

"So, what do I just-" I flick the setting on my Omni-tool and a scanner immediately starts scanning the nearby vicinity. "Oh, alright, that was easy…"

Flicking it off, I turn to see Zummi going over more paperwork- or more specifically work on her datapad that is involved with trademarking or whatever you have to do to sell a specific type of scanner…

"Once you have access to the C-Sec database, it will automatically check information against all the data stored in their servers. Right now you only have access to the regular, non-privileged information stored publicly on the extranet."

"Still a lot of information," I say. "This scanner thing, can it at least tell blood from other stains? Like, I can definitely use that at crime scenes for marking spots of blood on the floor."

"Yes," she replies. "And the more blood you scan, the more it will learn to pick the types of blood apart. Without access to the C-Sec archives…"

"It won't be able to tell what kind of blood it is," I finish. "Because it has no frame of reference yet. Right, got it."

"Now, remember," she says and looks up at me with authority in her tone. "That scanner has an entire suite of tools to help you but it's useless without access to the Archives, security system and cameras- so it's more imperative than ever that you finally get into C-Sec."

I sigh, "I dunno Zummi, I'll keep trying but they're pushing hard to keep me out. Every time I fail, it becomes less likely that they'll pass me next time."

She stands up and pats me on the shoulder. "You'll get there eventually. Are you ready to see what everyone else has cooked up?"

"Definitely," I say. "Can't endorse something if I don't know what it is."

We sweep off toward the kitchen and dining areas where everyone has set up multiple terminals and has machinery scattered everywhere in a very clean, very organized way.

Man, even when Quarians are messy they're still more organized than I am.

It's part of their culture now, it's been practice for so long. Keeping things clean on the Flotilla is of paramount importance. They have special rituals for cleansing a space along with cleaning it. There's a belief of theirs that their ancestors are still kind of with them. And doing those cleansing rituals keeps their spirits safe from like, spiritual detritus.

It's kinda like making a clean room for ghosts, it's. _So_ fascinating.

They seem to think the same about human pagan practices and greek mythology and stuff so I guess we're _all_ super interesting from an outside perspective.

"Kuveen has begun work on a patent for a very specific type of Combat Drone," Zummi explains as we approach his table. "It has protocols for attack, release, spying on its target and remaining unseen…it's the perfect suite for a C-Sec officer."

"Sounds awesome!" I say with a bright smile. "But you guys know you can make more than C-Sec stuff, I use everyday things too. I can endorse anything anyone else can."

She nods and leads me toward another project. "We know, and there are multiple projects running, but these are the ones that might make the most money."

Right, government contracts or whatever- where you make stuff for the army or the police…

I really dislike that I'm basically trying to be space-cop but if it's the only way to ensure that I can be there to protect people from the incredibly rigid social structures in place to oppress them- I'll fight from the inside. And as soon as I get _any_ inkling that it's not enough, that I can't really change anything or help anyone- I'll leave and do something better.

You can't just commit to a path and stay on it forever, no matter what. That's where the trouble lies with most of the world's issues. People think commitment means 'forever' when it really means 'as long as it works for me and I only have to do a _little_ to make it work'.

'Forever' is an unrealistic and unfair expectation, but people put it on themselves all the time. Like they're a quitter if they shift from doing domestic work to owning a bakery with a nanny on the side to help raise their kids. It's so weird.

"This is Maalis," Zummi introduces us. "She is working on a design for an unobtrusive but powerful visor that you'll be able to use to scan camera footage with more accuracy and it will be much better about facial and bodily recognition than any other kind of visor or camera. It is also an extension for your scanner so that you can make scans without anyone being the wiser unless they are also actively scanning- at which point you will likely have found the culprit you're looking for, yes?"

I shrug and smile. "Probably. Chases usually ensue after that, though, so does anyone have anything for that?"

She nods and turns around, escorting me to the other side of the dining room where a person in neutral, non-binary colors is working on little black and green orbs.

" _This_ is why you wanted to know my favorite colors?" I ask, delighted. "Personalized…what are those, smoke bombs or something?"

They shake their head and reply, "no no. These are nets. You can throw them and they will wrap around your quarry. Some are full nets, some are half nets, some are simply reinforced cables that wrap around them."

"So like a bola!" I say excitedly. "Humans have a weapon with two balls, one on each end, a rope in between. You throw it and it wraps around the person's legs. Or the animals'- depending."

"Yes, exactly," they say with an indulgent and amused tone of voice.

I've been getting that a lot lately.

"Everyone else is making the machinery to those specifications as well, though you won't notice it on the visor as much, as the actual machinery will be small. They will likely make the screen overlay itself black with green ridging," Zummi says. "And of course the Drone will be all black and green in its projection."

I'm so filled with such a feeling of elation that I can't really stand still, so I shift back and forth on my feet, rocking a little. "Wow…I mean, I know you kind of have to, so I can tell people how customizable they are and whatnot but it's still amazing."

"You'll be able to adjust the settings just like on your Omni-tool, too," the person with the 'technological bola' says. "So if you change your mind about the colors, you can just switch the Omni-tool colors and the rest will follow suit. We'll make that the default option on yours. If anyone more tech savvy wants to mix it up, they can find the settings in the menu."

"What was your name?" I ask. "I keep forgetting a lot of names, but maybe that's just cause you're in and out all the time and some of you don't live here and some of you do…"

"I'm Vilkas," they say. "And we have only met once or twice before, and then only briefly. When Zummi said you wanted to help us buy an old mall, I was a bit shocked, but you seemed the decent sort. I've met many since being on my pilgrimage. It's funny how nice some people can be while the whole world spits on you, like little pockets of unreality."

I nod and sigh in agreement. "I guess we just have to work on making those pockets bigger, right now."

"Nothing changes overnight," they reply. "But this? This is a good start. Especially that idea you had about the composite images. As long as they're only part of advertising and we don't imply the inventors are Asari, Salarian or Turian, it will be perfectly legal. And seeing those faces on the ads will make people more likely to buy."

I wish it didn't have to be that way, but after they've built up a reputation, maybe they can market differently, let everyone know who they are and what they can do.

That's what I'm working towards, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why it's so hard to write lately. I went grocery shopping with my gma a day or two ago and when we came back, I fell asleep. It was only like 5 pm.
> 
> I'm just so tired all the time. I don't even have to DO anything. Some days I'll have this spurt of energy. Just wish I knew where it came from so I could repeat the experience.


	12. Chellick POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've got enough built up in my backlog for two months of updating TWO stories on wednesday instead of one. Not exactly the three I had before all this but hey, it's more than the one. Lmao.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see the End notes if you have not yet voted on my Poll!

After a few weeks of training that came after a few months of working out, I figured Shepard should've had ample time and instruction to pass the C-Sec trials with no issue.

But then the first test came and went, and nothing.

I thought little of it at the time, as sometimes people just flub their first attempt. That's why you can try multiple times.

But then she took the second round of tests and I _knew_ something had to be wrong. So I watched the footage of her test and found exactly what I'd been expecting.

She was as near to flawless as she could possibly be, by Turian standards. She was more flexible, fast and decisively focused than any Turian I've ever seen. Considering what she told us before about how the human mind works, it's not _that_ surprising but…

Something new occurs to me.

All the humans that were failed before. It may not have been because they couldn't hack it. It may have been that they showed _too much_ promise.

Turians and humans have different strengths, this is simply how divergent evolution from other planets works. But if the people who took this test and struggled with it saw a human breezing by with no problem- how would they feel about that? How would they feel knowing the aliens made better security forces than them?

Soldier and military aspirations, Turians just work better with than humans. We're independent and individualistic but also need very strict structures around which to work.

Humans chafe at _any_ structure, even if it is beneficial to them.

We're hardier, have better aim and reflexes when it comes to searching out a target and firing. We're built for _war_ , not non-lethally taking down perps.

And I think that's exactly the problem with the test. We've had to work so hard to pass that test specifically because it's _not_ what we're built for. It doesn't diminish our efforts and it doesn't mean we're just bad at our jobs.

We put in the work.

But Mal put in the work, too, and she's brilliant at it.

And someone's failing her anyway.

Shepard's address is in the nicer part of town, so I'm a little surprised when the door opens and it's a Quarian. Multiple, in fact.

"Anything we can do for you, officer?" one of them asks, nervously wringing their hands.

"Uh…do I have the right address?" I ask. "I'm looking for Malicia Shepard."

There's a moment of relief and one of them runs back in the apartment to fetch her while I wait awkwardly outside with the other two.

"So…you're friends of Mal's?" I try to start a conversation to the best of my ability. Which is not great.

"In a manner of speaking," the Quarian on my left answers mysteriously while the one on my right rolls their eyes. I think? Can't really see well past the mist in their helmet.

"We live here," the one the right says. "She charges us pretty low rent. We're able to get more stable jobs if we have a place of residence we can put on our resumes."

It surprises me to hear, but it sounds like something Shepard would do.

She comes bolting out of the apartment, out of breath. "Chellick? What's up?" She seems relieved by my presence here.

And that's when I realize they have a _lot_ of Quarians in that apartment.

"Shepard…" I think she can tell that I see them because she immediately steers me away from the door and waves the others back in.

"They're not all living here, they just visit. A lot. To help each other with stuff they're doing. There's no law against that so long as they don't sleep here, is there?" she says more than asks.

I have to give her that one. The law about housing is for safety, you can't really flaunt it like it's a dumb restriction and expect the floor not to give out under you, but…as long as it's only a few hours every day that everyone is congregating in the same place- a private residence where they're allowed to be?

Well it might not be safe, but I can't say it's illegal.

Shepard is damn good at her job and she knew that before undertaking all this. She knows how to get _around_ laws that limit what kind of good we could do.

That's why we need her.

"You failed your tests," I say. "And you shouldn't have."

She sighs and puts her hands on her hips. "Not really much I can do? There's not even an appeals process for possible discrimination. I'd have to…I dunno, start rallies and petitions and I'm not nearly well-connected enough for that. I don't know anyone else who wants to be in C-Sec who's human or Quarian or whatever- everyone is pretty content to stay the hell away from it, but like…"

Shrugging and gesturing with her hands, she goes on. "There's no way to change C-Sec from the outside, I have to get in if I'm going to make a difference, but right now the only way to get in is to keep taking the tests until someone is so impressed, it overrides their bigoted judgment about humans. And that's not likely to happen anytime soon. So I'll just…keep working at it."

"I could find their names," I say. To my own great surprise as well as hers, I think.

"Whose names?" she asks.

"The Human and other species' recruits who tried to join C-Sec and failed," I clarify. "Some of them kept at it so long, there's really no hope for them to get in right now but some of them quit after the second or third time when it was obvious it wasn't them…I did some research after your second test."

She smiles at me in this way that's hard to decipher. It's soft and appreciative but also tired. "I want to, I do. I just don't know where to start. How would we even get them past the usual blockades? I can't even pass myself here, so I don't think we should get their hopes up until we're sure we can get them in."

That _is_ a good point, but I already thought of it.

And I realize in this moment, I can't tell her _anything_.

"You're right. We'll think of something else," I say. Feeling terrible for the deception but positively joyful about the plan.

If she doesn't know about it, she can't be implicated. All I have to do is pay extra attention to procedure leading up to the third test. Do everything by the book as much as possible.

"I'm gonna have to stop all our lessons," I say. "Part of the reason you're failing might be because they think I'm favoring you."

She sighs, "yeah I guess that might be a tiny part of it. I wouldn't blame you for thinking so. I'd usually say 'screw em' but…"

"It'll be alright," I reach out and grasp her shoulder. "Just work harder than you've ever worked before and I'll do the same."

Her smile then is less tired and it's the best I've felt all week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pick your favorites!
> 
> If you've already voted, please do not do so again!
> 
> https://strawpoll.com/kfugrps1h


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I didn't know it was wednesday all day today T-T
> 
> An ALARM, you guys. I have an ALARM.

"Well it's certainly as dilapidated as the ad said it was," I say while wrinkling my nose at the place.

"It's better this way," one of the Quarians answers. A man, judging by his colors and the design of his suit. "There are a LOT of things we'd have to install that would require the breaking down of walls or at least, cutting into them. If the walls are already flimsy, that will make it easier."

"Yes but now we'll have to funnel all of our credits into paying for the repair materials," Zummi steps up on my other side. "We won't have that credit cushion we wanted- not for a very long time."

"Well so long as you eventually have ownership over a facility in which you can house many Quarians- cushion or not, the plan still works out. You can charge rent to cover costs for a while if you need to," I say. "You don't have to make it a lot, and you can also just set up a donation run every once in a while. Whatever you choose, at least its better than having to sleep in the shelters where people might steal your stuff or assault you."

Zummi thinks about that and nods once. "Thank you for holding the title until we can get into the building and petition the Council for rights. I just know we wouldn't be allowed to keep the property we paid for if they could find some loophole to exploit."

"I mean, would've been better to find an Asari, Turian or Salarian to hold the title if you wanted it to be like, super safe," I say. "Humans aren't super high on the rung either. But considering the lack of individuals you consider trustworthy, I guess I'm the only option."

"You know the law," Zummi says. "Are studying it and dedicated to changing the ways that C-Sec works. You are the _best_ choice, trustworthiness of other candidates aside."

Shrugging, I let that one go. "Alright, but…where are you going to start?"

"First things first is getting it all up to code," one of those with a gender neutral coloring steps forward.

Masculine design though. He/Him nonbinary or they/them masculine nonbinary? I'll check the database later so I know from now on.

"If we can get everything installed and all the walls built up enough that it would be considered a place of residence by Citadel standards, even their lowest- we'd be able to live in it even as we further repair it," they say.

"Is there anything we can get _right now_ that would bring it up to code immediately?" I ask. "Like is the wiring bad, or does it just need some part in there that will keep it running for maybe another year?"

"The wiring's bad, the pipes are bad," another feminine Quarian steps up with a scanner and walks to the front door. "I'm not even sure the roof will hold. But if we focus on the things we _need_ to survive like the water pipes and the electricity that will go to the life support systems, we wouldn't need lights- we can just buy lanterns and hang them. So long as there _is_ light, it should count."

I pull up the requisite regulations on my own omni-tool. I feel like I can recite them from memory at this point but I've got to be sure.

"Well it doesn't say you have to have electricity to lights, just to life support. And that it must be a 'lighted environment'," I say.

"Good," Zummi says. "Precha, get on the wiring and make sure you cut it off from the lights and other systems before you begin replacing it with new. Mabbock, I want the water pipes repaired or replaced as quickly as possible and I want filters installed that will actually produce water we can drink."

They both nod and rush off into the shadows of the darkest district on the Citadel I've ever seen.

"Uh, will they be okay alone?" I ask.

Zummi sighs, "maybe, maybe not. But the rest of us have to stay here, protect the building and do an internal survey. When they get back, they'll get all the information from our Omni-tools and start working."

"Hang on," I flick on my omni-tool again. "Chellick?"

His voice comes over the line, weary. Tired. He's been like that a lot lately. I think the uppers are riding him. After he dropped me as a protege, it seemed they thought punishing him THEN would be less suspicious than before when he'd still been teaching me.

Assholes.

" _Shepard? What is it?_ " he asks.

"There are two Quarians running errands for me? I want to make sure they don't get hassled at any of the shops. Can you watch out for them?" I ask. "I'm busy with other stuff or I'd do it myself."

" _I'll keep an eye on their progress if you can send me their idents,_ " he says while typing something on the Terminal next to him. " _If any C-Sec wander over to ask for their information or threaten to arrest them for vagrancy, I'll call them to a different section. Just make it quick, I'm off in an hour and then I'll be unconscious for about six._ "

I laugh a little at that. "Sweet dreams, sweet prince." And then close the connection after sending the Idents.

"You trust this Turian?" Zummi walks over to me as I end the call. "He is the one who did not report us for our 'unlawful gatherings', yes?"

"Whoever told you _that_ needs his ass kicked, give me a name, I'm serious," I say. "Whatever excuse they can use, I swear to god. And yeah, that was him. I don't know how much you can trust him, really. But I've been able to rely on him a lot. So hopefully it works out and I don't lose a friend trying to stand up for my beliefs."

"Does that happen often?" she asks.

"My beliefs are more important to me than my life," I say. "So friendships kind of pale in significance. A lot of people don't like that."

"I think it's admirable, if a bit…unhealthy," she says.

"I've heard that before," I mutter. "What can I do? Need me to hold stuff or help lift stuff? I've got two hands, come on, put me to work."


	14. Chellick POV

I have _never_ had to use a dirty, underhanded tactic -- _against C-sec--_ before in my life.

In all my years at this job, all I had to manage was skirting the lines. That was always enough.

But I had never really had to work with any other species before, either. Salarians and Asari aside, it was always other Turians and everyone else was outside. They were the people we were arresting.

I think that's part of the problem. Somehow crime is up, even though we've been catching more and more people.

At first I thought it was because Turians are just naturally more in control. Abide by the rules. That not as many of us become rogues, brigands and outlaws as other species because of our culture.

The Asari are similar, but they also have that odd emphasis on personal freedoms that the humans do- with a paradoxical focus on how personal freedoms impact society. So of course we arrest less of those because while they are free with their emotions and actions, they are more conscientious.

And Salarians are often too busy for many reasons to peek their head out and do much of anything.

That was when I was about…twenty?

Then I was twenty-five and suddenly I realized there are as many Turian, Asari and Salarian pirates and lawbreakers out there in the galaxy- they just don't make it past the screen system- usually -to get onto the Citadel.

It took me until now to realize that the few that are on the station are enabled _by the law_ to do what they do. The only reason that humans and other aliens get caught so often is because they're less _familiar_ with the loopholes.

Well, not now as in today. The past two years or so I've been having more and more sneaking suspicions. I mean, we were arresting a lot of Quarians for vagrancy even though in their culture, that concept doesn't really apply…

Somehow that seemed wrong. So when I was given seniority and a position above most beat cops, I ended up telling them not to 'bother' bringing in 'vagrants' of any kind because there was literally nowhere to put them. Either they would eventually leave on their own and they were technically something more like a tourist or they would find employment and become a citizen.

It was difficult to get them to stop, as they saw it as a requirement of being in C-Sec to report every little infraction and arrest everyone no matter how small their crime, if they saw them in progress of it.

A child scuffing their foot against the wall of a building is not committing vandalism to anyone watching but a Turian. To us, that child is committing an act of disrespect and disorder.

I myself have never bothered feeling offended over little things like that. Children touch things, sometimes in odd ways. And the building isn't hurt at all by it, so what is the point in getting upset over it?

In the end, I had to instate a program wherein you could be _penalized_ for bringing in small timers when there were other bigger cases that needed working on.

But this only works for a small amount of people in C-Sec. Most don't care about accolades, they just want to enforce order because it makes the world make sense.

Still, it was within my _power_ to create a program like that. And it's within my power to enforce it. As someone with seniority, a lead detective with a lot of tightly wrapped cases- I have the power to do that.

But this. This is something I've _never_ done. Never _had_ to do-

Or no. Not something I ever had to do for myself or anyone I knew. If I had met these Quarians sooner, if I had made friends with another human, if if if. I think I would've been pulled in the same direction.

"Alright, it's done- you can set him free now," I speak quietly as I walk toward a taxi station. "Meet you at the Dark Star."

There's no response except the clicking of a comm being turned off, as we agreed.

Emilius and I got together sometimes as- once I'd decided that I had to leave Shepard behind in order to help her, I needed to mentor someone else. But not just anyone. Someone who would understand the issue and feel as angry about it as I did. Someone who would want to do something about it.

The ride up to the Dark Star Lounge is quiet and I watch the lights along the arms of the Citadel glimmer as I go.

Tapping a talon against the plates of armor on my thigh, I finally stretch out my mandibles and jaw. It was tense, sneaking into Pallin's office and switching around the instructors.

Even if he notices the switch-offs, it's likely he won't be able to tell who was switched where. It was only a slight change for everyone, after all. And he's getting on in years. It's possible, even as a Turian with the mental acuity that he has and the responsibilities he's undertaken- that he could have switched people around a bit without knowing it. Or forgotten to reset the page and then save it after he'd made the plan to begin with.

Though considering the fact that I reset, saved and then closed the document- it's likely he won't notice it at all for a bit. Especially since I erased the file logs that show it was edited. And the logs of the deletion.

There are a lot of layers of security in our programs. And luckily, I know all of them.

Getting out of the taxi on the right level, I don't head straight for the lounge. I stop by a bunch of little shops on the way.

I don't buy much, just a few things. Things anyone else would see as junk or material for hand making something.

'Silk' patches- that still won't translate quite right. All in the colors that Mal gushed to me about while going through her Quarian research. Silver, Red, Purple…mostly silver, since it's pretty neutral. Black too.

Then some bits of metal that could be melted down and reworked. A specific type of metal that's hard to come by because it's expensive. It has properties that keeps it from holding on to germs. There are still a few that can hang on, but it's much less than other metals for some reason.

Mal was gushing about how amazing it would be if she could find a deposit somewhere the Quarians could mine. That not only could it be used for their suits, but also to coat the inside walls of their clean ships.

These little cufflinks are expensive but not so much that I hesitate to buy them. Six of them, in fact.

I think this is the first time I'm realizing how truly ridiculously large my salary is. Most Turians wouldn't know what to do with this much money aside from putting it away as a nest egg. Just in case. To pay for their kids expenses someday, maybe.

And all this time it could've gone toward something better.

Upon reaching the Lounge, I have a bag filled with miscellaneous items, and so does Emilius.

He bought the usual kind of Turian care products. And when we sit down, we put the bags under the table, like so many people do. As we talk about nothing in particular, I use one of the talons on my foot to switch the bags around, then clasp that foot firmly back in my boot.

The stuff I bought will be taken to Mal with no one the wiser, even her. And in exchange, I have items and a receipt to prove that I came to this level to buy things I needed and see my new protege who was on his way to give the things _he'd_ bought, to Mal. Who'd asked for some donations.

It might seem a little suspicious that he was able to buy six of those cufflinks, but…well. I wired him some money and he made sure to spend it all on the purchases that he made.

Our purchases were about the same amount, so even if someone gets suspicious about it- all he'd have to say is that I donated some money toward the cause and he's the one who personally went about buying everything.

I already scrambled our idents and images in the system so that the Cameras would record us both coming from different directions.

And since Pallin already knows that Emilius was with _him_ , asking about something totally unrelated to the next round of testing that was imperative he know about- it's unlikely he'll suspect him of any wrongdoing.

Basically, using Emilius, I've now secured an airtight alibi.

Now let's hope it wasn't all for nothing.

**Author's Note:**

> Everybody Please remember to comment or kudos!
> 
> I'd prefer a comment even if you think your comment will be unoriginal or saying the same thing everyone else has said. Comments give me motivation and inspiration and sometimes just plain remind me that the story exists. Which is actually a problem with me sometimes.
> 
> I appreciate anything you can give me!


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